


And When I Break, It's in a Million Pieces

by forthegloryofdragons



Category: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons), Trollhunters - Daniel Kraus & Guillermo del Toro
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Heavy Angst, Human Jim Lake Jr. (Tales of Arcadia), I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon, Wizards Spoilers (Tales of Arcadia)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:28:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25822144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forthegloryofdragons/pseuds/forthegloryofdragons
Summary: He’s too vulnerable right now, and he hates it. He hates it so much.
Comments: 14
Kudos: 107





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anxious_freak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anxious_freak/gifts).



> Before we begin, I'm adding some trigger warnings to be safe. Please do not read this if you know they will affect you.  
> This oneshot contains a panic attack, mentions of throwing up, and an incident of unintentional self-harm. 
> 
> MAJOR SPOILERS FOR TOA WIZARDS. Don't read if you haven't finished the entire season. Or if you want spoilers, go for it. I can't stop you. 
> 
> Title: Lyrics from Mirrorball by Taylor Swift

The more he thinks, the less he wants to be here. He sits on the rock in his backyard as his best friend and girlfriend spar, like old times. Toby with his war hammer, and Claire with her newly learned magic blasts. The only difference is his idle presence. This feels wrong. It  _ is _ wrong. He’s restless, and for good reason. Jim has never sat out a sparring match before. He’s always the one who initiates them. 

But how can he, when he wields no weapon? 

His limbs ache to move, to get up and jump in, even if just to dodge rather than attack. But he knows that if he so much as tries to butt in, Claire and Toby would stop their friendly match in favour of keeping him from getting hurt. It’s ridiculous. He should be the one protecting them, not the other way around. 

Instead of getting up himself, he offers little pointers here and there to each of them.

_ Go for a hit when she’s building up her magic.  _

_ Use the hammer’s weight against him.  _

_ Use deceptive moves then strike.  _

It’s all he can do to keep that voice out of his mind. He wants to be useful, but he can’t do that by sitting around and telling them what to do. He needs to be in the middle of the fight, not sitting on the sidelines. He’s helpless, a sitting duck. He longs for the familiar weight of Daylight in his hands. If they were to be attacked at this very moment, heaven forbid, he would be defenseless. Toby and Claire would protect him. He’s sure of that. He trusts them with his life, but they can’t trust him with theirs. He’s too vulnerable right now, and he hates it. He hates it  _ so much.  _

He isn’t quite sure when his attention drifted, but the clash of the war hammer against Claire’s magic shields is muffled and his ears are ringing. The world is spinning, everything is blur. Is he crying? He doesn’t know. All he knows is that it’s getting hard to breathe, like when he got swallowed by the inky black elixir concocted by Merlin. He should be concerned. He should tell someone he’s feeling sick. He should call for help. 

Instead, in as steady a voice as he can manage, he excuses himself to the bathroom. They’ll believe that. They don’t need to worry about a little bathroom break. He doesn’t wait to see if they follow him. He runs up the stairs two at a time and makes it to the bathroom just in time to shut the door and empty his lunch into the toilet bowl. 

_ Weak, pathetic human. Can’t even keep a meal down. _

That reminder makes him sick again. He’s weak. How can he protect his friends if he’s sitting on the bathroom floor, throwing up with no hope of feeling better? 

He stays until his stomach has settled enough and he feels it’s safe to move away. He flushes the toilet and pulls the lid down to sit on it. 

_ Your humanity is not enough. _

The bathtub before him is filled to the brim, a familiar dark cloud spreading through the water. It’s not real, he knows. He blinks, once, twice, and then the vision is gone. He’s safe. The safety of the world doesn’t rest on his shoulders anymore. The world doesn’t depend on him giving up his life.

_ What are you here for then? _

The voice is right. That  _ was _ his life. Every choice he made was to help everyone. That ability to choose has been ripped away from him. Sitting here, crying in the bathroom, goes against everything he’s worked for as the Trollhunter. He’s not answering the call. 

But, he realises with a jolt, there is no call to answer. He doesn’t have the amulet. He’s not the Trollhunter. 

He stands and growls under his breath, trying to stay focused. It’s so out of place, coming from his very human throat. His hands rake through his hair, and he’s sure he’s ripped strands from his scalp, but the pain is nothing. His human body is so weak. He can’t do anything like this. But when he does look in the mirror, he doesn’t see a human reflection staring back at him. 

_ You’re holding them back. Your time as a hero is over.  _

He shakes his head desperately. Ignore it. Block it out. None of this is real. He knows it like he knows he should be better than this. And yet, the glowing red eyes of his half-troll form chill him to the core. He averts his eyes, looking down at his hands. His  _ human _ hands. 

_ You’re so weak, you can’t even face me. _

That thing in the mirror. It isn’t him, but its voice is his own. The growl is familiar to his ears, like a faint memory. 

Reluctantly, Jim meets its eyes. His eyes are burning from tears, but still, he squashes down the urge to cry. He’s better than that. He must not show any weakness. He needs to be strong to keep everyone safe. 

“I’m the Trollhunter,” he says, more of a reassurance to himself that he is still worthy of the title, even without the amulet. He can still be the hero everyone needs.

The creature scoffs. 

_ You are no Trollhunter. You are nothing more than a weak fleshbag. Where’s your sword? How will you protect your friends? _

It’s right.

_ Your family? _

Tears finally spill from his eyes. He can’t.

_ How will you protect Claire? _

“Shut up!”

He punches the mirror. It shatters, along with the distorted reflection of a giant beast with glowing eyes that flicker yellow. Shards clatter to the floor, and his hands sting from the fresh wounds of glass cutting deep into his weak, soft, human skin. 

He doesn’t care. The pain is nothing compared to the anguish he feels, the agony of knowing he can’t protect his loved ones anymore. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was completely okay with Jim spending the rest of his life as a half-troll. He has family and friends who love him no matter what he is, and he could be happy. 
> 
> But you guys saw that ending. Yeah, he's back, but I have so much I want to explore. His reaction to emerging from the pile of rocks alone says so much, even more when he tried to pull Excalibur and doubted his role as the Trollhunter, and then how he went from being the one wielding Daylight, to having nothing.
> 
> That's how this oneshot came about. I was talking to anxious-freak, a good friend of mine in the fandom, and he pointed out that Jim would hate his human form now because he can't protect his friends. So, we should really be thanking him for this one.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She promised she would keep him safe, and she is going to keep that promise, even if it kills her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was meant to be a oneshot. But after lots of discussing with my friends and reading your comments (thank you!!), I realised.. I want to continue this. I rarely do fics longer than one chapter but I feel like this one needs it.

The less she thinks, the better her control. The chatter between her boys is just enough to distract her, to silence her mind as she dishes out blast after blast at the rocks surrounding her boyfriend’s backyard. 

She’s here to spar, not attack defenseless boulders, but Douxie insists on warming up before actually doing any proper training. Now, she understands why. Magic is emotion, as her teacher keeps reminding her. It’s how she’s always been able to power the Shadow Staff so easily, so effortlessly. 

An empath, he calls her. Someone whose emotions are easily influenced by the surrounding energy. It’s that epiphany that helps her to realise she thrives on emotions. 

But it also means that after all they’ve been through, all  _ she’s _ been through, her emotions are shot. Unstable. The last few days were exhausting, so can anyone really blame her for letting it get to her?

She screams, lashing out at the rock as if it’s the cause of all her problems. Within seconds, it’s reduced to dust. 

She almost feels guilty for destroying that little part of Jim’s home. Almost. Instead, she welcomes a sick, twisted sense of satisfaction at watching something other than her friends suffer for once. It’s just a rock, she thinks. 

Only, it isn’t.

_ I thought you could use a reminder of home. Of better times, and us. _

She scoffs at the irony. A thousand years later, and it’s destroyed by her own hand. 

She takes a deep breath and calls Toby to the centre of the lawn. She swallows back the emotion that threatens to rear its head back on her. She’s okay for now. It’s out of her system and she can focus on their friendly spar. 

As Toby swings his war hammer, Claire deflects with a shield of her own magic, if she can defend herself, she can protect her friends. She can protect Jim. She promised she would keep him safe, and she is going to keep that promise, even if it kills her.

She fires a small blast at Toby. He dodges it with some effort, quick to spin back around and pull her legs right out from under her with his hammer. She falls hard on her back, gasping as the wind is knocked out of her lungs. 

_ How can you protect him when you can’t even protect yourself? _

She pushes herself off the ground, landing on her feet to avoid his next strike at the ground where she had been just a moment ago. Before she can return to an offensive position, the door slams.

Jim. He was sitting there just a minute ago but he’s not there anymore. He’s gone. 

It doesn’t even take a second for both her and Toby to rush in and hunt down their Trollhunter. If he had somewhere else to be, he would say something. Claire’s sure of it. This is unrelated. At least, she hopes it is.

_ You promised we’d do this together. _

She curses his damned ability to practically vanish into thin air. They should know better by now.  _ She  _ should know better. His track record of leaving to do dangerous things on his own to avoid any harm coming to them should be enough of a reason to keep an eye on him all the time. 

Leaving Toby to check the basement, she heads upstairs to check every room. He’s not in his bedroom. She checks the nursery. Barbara and Strickler have left them to babysit for the evening, so maybe the changeling familiars needed something. Poking her head in, the room is silent, save for the quiet snores of babies fast asleep. 

_ “Shut up!”  _

That’s enough to send her running.

A loud crash rings through the house.

“Jim!” Before she can even think about basic bathroom etiquette, she slams the door open. 

A wave of nausea hits her as she takes in the sight of her boyfriend weeping helplessly on the ground, surrounded by glass shards that dig into his palms and knees. His knuckles are red and scratched up. The mirror that had been on the medicine cabinet is no longer there, the wood beneath it splintered ever so slightly. 

_ He punched the mirror. _

“Jim,” she whispers, choking back a sob. “Why?” 

He doesn’t hear her, doesn’t give any sign that he knows she’s standing right there. He just keeps crying, tears falling freely. Her eyes burn. She wants to throw herself on the floor and hold him until he stops hurting, but it would do no good for the two of them to be covered in shattered glass. 

So she steps over the mess and pulls him up by the arms and out the door, letting him lean his weight on her. 

“Toby!” She calls as she passes the staircase. “Get the first aid kit!”

The panicked yelps are the only acknowledgement she receives as she guides Jim to his bedroom. As she sits him down on his bed, she kneels in front of him, holding his hands in both of hers. 

_ I fought across time and space to bring you back.  _

His eyes are shut, but tears are still spilling, with seemingly no end in sight. His breathing is uneven. It’s nothing she hasn’t seen before. In the two months they spent with the trolls, she’d helped him through his fair share of panic attacks in the aftermath of the eternal night. She’s really more worried about pulling pieces of glass from his skin. She’s one of the few people he’s always open with, and she knows just how afraid he can be sometimes. But God, she’s never seen him so fragile.

_ It can’t all have been for nothing. _

He leans forward, sobbing against her shoulder. She doesn’t care that his tears seep through the cracks in her armour. Jim is hurting, and she would go through the pain for him if she could, just so he wouldn’t suffer anymore. 

But she can’t. No matter how much she wants to, she can’t take away his pain. So this is the best she can do for now.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't make any promises on how long it will be but, this isn't the end. I can promise that much.


End file.
